They turned to look at the source of the breathless words: a boy, standing in the doorway, one of those who had taken to sitting on the hillside and watching the water all afternoon as soon as their chores were done.
“Go on, son, go bother someone who—”
“Don’t believe me; but she’s there.” The boy turned and ran back towards the bank.
Tired old men and their tired sons exchanged shrugs and raised eyebrows. One got up, not afraid to look the fool, and then another, just for the hell of it, and then another, because he had nothing better to do.
They assembled on the bank and watched the woman in the water. Some called to her; one started to wade in, but was quickly pulled back by his friends.
“You don’t want any part of her,” he was sternly told, “lest you lose your soul”